


Collecting Shadows

by Deadly Night_Sh1ft (CrookedMath)



Series: Unnecessary Shadows [9]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blindfolds, Blood Kink, Body Worship, Dissection, Eavesdropping, Erotica, First Time Blow Jobs, Genital Piercing, Hate Sex, Identity Reveal, Long Hair, Long Nails, Lust, M/M, Misdirected Hatred, Morbid Trophies, Multiple Orgasms, One Night Stands, POV First Person, Resentment, Rumors, Secrets, Spanking, Unrequited Love, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrookedMath/pseuds/Deadly%20Night_Sh1ft
Summary: Othello recalls his brief fling with Undertaker and where his collection of "specimens" really came from among other interesting things.***Reading up to chapter 8 in Unnecessary Secrets is recommended to provide context but optional as this can also be a stand-alone work***





	Collecting Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really back from the dead, this is just a hologram. Entirely too much crap is going on right now. My computer is dead, there's a guest overstaying their welcome in my home (long story), but the good news is that the repair work on my house is finally done. I'm stuck writing this cute little thing on my phone. Yay! This is my first time doing a yaoi in first person POV. Be gentle. 
> 
> This contains blood sport, which is hardcore, expert level S&M. Do not try it without caution or if you're underage.***You have been warned***  
> Enjoy.

I don't like thinking about that man, but sometimes I do. He's a weirdo, but he'd say the same thing about me. I can't bring myself to tell Paige exactly how intimately I know that bastard, at least not yet. Maybe one day after I've staked my claim on her I'll tell her everything. As of now, she only knows that we know each other and that we dislike each other. She has no idea how far we went or how much we think alike.

Unlike Paige, I never knew his name when we met. He went by his serial number, which I won't disclose. Even if I don't like him, I still respect him in an odd way. I just called him "Whitey" because of that beautiful, long silver hair of his; however, the moniker is obviously a bit of a misnomer. I remember how efficient and brutal he was at his job, and I admit, it aroused me. I often received specimens that met with the business end of his Death Scythe and wondered if I'd ever get a chance to talk with him. After all, I had heard many rumors about him, such as his penchant for going on random killing sprees when no one was looking, a centuries old relationship with the head of security and intelligence, and illicit involvement with humans. I also heard that he was setting up shop as a mortician in London, but that couldn't be true. Where would he find the time to do all this on top of his duties to Dispatch? I was itching to talk to him, but I'm too reclusive and wrapped up in my own work in the forensics lab to bother with it.

I gave up caring about satisfying my curiosity in regards to "Whitey" when one day he just strolled into the lab after everyone else had gone home for the day. I wasn't supposed to be there either, but I had an opportunity to collect another rare specimen. This time it was a parasite ridden brain. 

"Oh, what a wonderful tapeworm infestation! It's not every day I come across something as marvelous as this! You're coming home with me," I excitedly muttered to the parasite infested tissue as I prepared its glassy new home.

"That's one of mine, you know," a sharp, yet velvety voice sounded from across the room. "Put the fucker out his misery. You should have seen the look on his face when I reaped him."

Startled, I looked up, and _he_ was there, Legendary Death, or "Whitey" as I like to call him. "What the hell are you doing here?" I wish I could say I angrily demanded.

"Might I ask the same of you, Othello," he sarcastically retorted. "It's after hours, shouldn't you be at home fucking yourself?"

That remark really got under my skin. I may be a recluse, but I am damn well not a virgin. I drove the scalpel I was working with into the corpse's eye as I glared at the realm's best reaper. Truth be told, it took all of my will power not to burst out laughing at the squishy pop the eye made when the surgical instrument hit home. "'Whitey', why don't you go fuck yourself!" I shouted. He laughed in response, which only irked me even more. "If you don't have any business with me, then leave." I knew I was throwing away a perfectly good opportunity to satisfy my curiosity about him, but he pissed me off.

"I was only teasing you," he purred.

I hadn't even realized that he was already standing behind me, drifting slightly long nails up the side of my neck. I looked down and noticed that I was very aroused. I knew that he knew it too. I knew he knew when a starlight waterfall tumbled over my shoulder. "Your hair is getting..." I trailed off, mesmerized by the blood accenting the tips of silver that snuck into the cadaver's open chest cavity.

"Do you want to see my collection?" he whispered softly, seducing me, bending me to his will.

I nodded, eagerly accepting his offer. Any words I might have spoken were quickly consumed by his ravenous kiss. Like a virgin, I fell for the hollow meaning behind the passion as I reciprocated. Somehow, the sly bastard managed to make me lose myself with just a kiss. I will always resent him for that despite how amazing Paige thinks I am compared to him.

xxxxxx

We never had what one would consider a fling, let alone a relationship. He came by the lab a few times promising to show me his specimen collection but never delivering. I could never get him to utter a single word about himself, especially his real name. He only gave me his rank and serial number as if he was in the military. I did manage to get some information about his relationship with the head of the security and intelligence department. He only divulged that it was a former student of his known as the Gray Shadow.

I was dissecting an exquisite young lady one day when he walked in with a cunning look in his eyes and a sadistic grin on his face. I had a feeling that that particular day was going to be different from the other days when we've talked. 

Oh, and it was. I'll be honest, I was elated when we were finally heading to his place together to check out his own collection of specimens. At the time, I had little idea of what was in store for me as soon as we crossed the threshold of a dilapidated building in the seedier part of the realm which had apparently been uninhabited for years. In the dim light I could make out dozens of jars containing disembodied organs, various body parts of the innocuous variety, and a life-size medical doll supposedly made with human organs. I made it known that I was less than impressed, that is until he led me to a secret room inside the basement. The crazy asshole blindfolded me, and it wouldn't be the only time that night either. Once inside this secret chamber, I laid eyes on a host of oddities the likes of which I had never seen before. He had somehow acquired whole bodies of parasitic twins, conjoined twins, people with conjoined faces, and anything else deformed or diseased under the sun. In addition to the oddities, he kept human perversions, such as genitalia and other primary and secondary sex organs as well as deformed fetuses. However, out of all of his oddities and perversions, he was particularly fond of ovarian teratomas. Not even _I_ had the chance to get my hands on one of those. Hell, I'd settle for a testicular teratoma or even one dangling from a tailbone; but it's the ovarian teratomas that are the most prized above all else. 

"Where did you find all of this?" I asked, awestruck of the legend and his equally legendary collection.

"Like you, I collect trophies; however, unlike you, I have a different means of collection. Hehehe."

I didn't fully grasp the meaning of his response until months later after he went rogue. "Your collection is more than impressive," I wistfully mused. "I envy you."

I tensed as he grabbed my crotch. "I don't think it's envy that you're feeling, Othello. I didn't bring you here just to show you my trophy collection." His legendary, piercing green eyes lustfully roamed every inch of my body, metaphorically stripping me naked and dominating me. "Shall we head upstairs or would you rather me fuck you right here?"

"Aren't we blunt," I teased. "Here is fine."

I don't know if I made the right decision or not, but all I do know is that whatever foreplay that _I_ was about to receive was forgone in favor of a rough spanking with a studded paddle. (I must mention that the paddle had holes in it for less air resistance, and the studs were more like short, sharp spikes.) I was incredibly aroused by the abuse he was meting out on my behind. I felt nothing but bliss when the sharp studs ripped the skin of my bottom.

"You have _his_ body, but you're not _him_ ," "Whitey" repeated over and over again under his breath as each whack of the paddle got more and more brutal. As soon as I came, he stopped and looked at me with a combination of acidic lust and disdain in his alluring eyes. However, deep beneath the surface, loneliness and longing for an unrequited love to be returned to him were fighting for their rights to be acknowledged.

I didn't know what else to do, so I kissed him; tenderly at first, then with more fervor. I wanted him to enjoy himself, I suppose. To this day I have no idea what prompted me to kiss him the same way I kiss Paige. I never loved him. I pitied him if anything.

Soon enough, I was on my knees fumbling with a complicated array of fastenings keeping a well endowed legend confined in skintight black leather. Once I freed what made him a man, I stared at the piercing decorating the tip, wondering why a man would put himself through such pain for a boost of sexual pleasure. I opened my mouth to inquire about the piercing but found it full of what it was attached to instead.

"So, I was right, you are a virgin," the legend snickered as I awkwardly serviced him.

Again, he pissed me off. I'm no virgin... Well, with women at least. I caught the piercing between my teeth and gave it a good twist, followed by a sharp tug. "I'm not a goddamn virgin, 'Whitey'," I snapped, now more motivated than ever to keep him from wounding my pride.

"Yes you are. It's obvious that you've never given head before."

I paused, tongue twisting around that damn piercing of his. "If _that's_ what you meant by virgin, then of course I am!" I proudly admitted. "I've only been with women. Be more specific next time." I resumed my awkward attempt at orally pleasuring him. His non regulation length nails grazed my scalp as he slid his long, slender fingers through my hair, subtly guiding me through the process of how to please a man.

"Do that thing with your teeth again. I like it when _he_ does it. You do it, too," he murmured.

I didn't know who _he_ was at the time, but damn was I jealous. I'm not one of the ancients, so I have the luxury of channeling my jealous rage into motivation. In this case, I was motivated to compete with and exceed the oral sex prowess of some mysterious man from the old bastard's past. When I look back on it, I should have stopped and left the legendary lunatic with blue balls, but I have my pride, and I wasn't about to lose it in front him. I heard a tiny, barely audible whimper when I tugged on the genital piercing that I was soon becoming obsessed with. It's a humiliating sound many men make when they're close, myself included, so I'll never pass judgement on him for it. After the despised noise entered my auditory senses, I did to him what I have women do to me, and took every last inch of what divides us from the fairer sex into my mouth. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes when the piercing triggered my gag reflex, but I kept up my work, stopping every once in a while to nibble on the metal decorating his dick. My eyes shot open when his hand forced my head all the way down, his piercing jabbing the back of my throat with an intimidating command to "swallow everything", which I promptly obeyed if I wanted to go any further. 

I sat back on my haunches and gazed up at the man standing above me with silver hair splayed over a bare chest. I didn't have to look down to see that I was hard again just by the very sight of him, especially when my eyes landed on the silver loops in his nipples. I thought it was about time for me to show myself to him, so I removed the remaining amount of clothes I had on. I was unsure of how he'd react, so I didn't show too much candor as I undressed myself. As my shirt fell to the floor, leaving me in a pair of white socks and red slides, the old bastard grabbed my wrist, preventing me from removing the aforementioned footwear. His phosphorescent eyes intently studied my slender frame from head to toe.

"Exquisite," he whispered to himself, a tiny hint of sadness attempting to creep into his velvet voice. "Your body is as breathtaking as _his_."

I wanted to ask who he was referring to, but I couldn't find my voice. He worshipped my body with wandering hands and drifting kisses. I closed my eyes and melted into the domineering kiss he suddenly gave me. A choked moan shamelessly escaped me when he dug his nails into my bare chest deep enough to draw blood. I yearned for him to tear it open. I wanted to see red. I needed to have my sanguine desires fulfilled. As if my mind had been read, my pale flesh became a scratching post for Legendary Death. I collapsed on top of him, delerious with the pleasure of having my skin torn apart by a legend.

"It seems that you have quite the fetish, Othello," he wickedly pointed out as he ran a finger along one of the many cuts he graciously bestowed upon me. I snatched his hand and hungrily tasted my own blood while it was still fresh and dripping from the tips of his long fingers. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I felt two of his fingers enter me. "Indeed, you are a virgin. Do you want me to satisfy this fetish of yours to its fullest?" I vigorously nodded.

I don't really regret what happened next; however, I do regret consenting to be blindfolded. I wish I could have seen the look in his eyes as he had his way with me. What little amount of affection that may or may not have been present between us turned to hate and lust became simple domination. He knew I took-and I still take-no sides in bed. I'm not a switch, I just don't care about games of domination and submission. I go with what I feel like doing in the moment, and he exploited that part of me. Nevertheless, I have my pride, and I was not going to back down in front of him despite my misgivings.

I asked him what he meant by satisfying my fetish to its fullest but received no verbal response. Instead, I felt the cold, harsh pain of a surgical instrument slash my arm open. I followed the scent and seductively licked the crimson river flowing down the wounded flesh, thinking it would arouse him as much as it did me.

"You're a fucking weirdo," he said with a level of disgust that both embarrassed and infuriated me.

"You're the last person I want to hear that from, 'Whitey'," I playfully retorted, futilely attempting to lighten the mood and quell my rising temper.

"And, _you're_ the last person I want to hear anything out of," he flatly shot back as he gagged me with an antique horsebit from the days of Queen Elizabeth's reign. 

I trembled in anticipation of what the unhinged ancient might do next. Clearly, he wasn't going to keep his promise of satisfying my sanguine appetite to its fullest. Then again, he didn't actually promise anything. My eyes went impossibly wide beneath the leather blindfold when he ruthlessly penetrated me from behind. It hurt like hell but felt damn good at the same time. He coiled his arms around me as his thrusts became more insistent and violent. The hand covered in my blood finally gave my privates the attention they rightfully deserved; stroking me as violently as he was fucking me. I made that stupid fucking whimper, signaling that I was close. He knew because he did it too; and as a result, he dove in deeper, shattering the locks to my secret places... and his.

"I'm not done with you yet," the madman growled, contempt highly evident in his voice. He threw me down on the floor and flipped me onto my back. "You don't deserve a breathtaking body like this. It may be the same as _his_ , but you are not, and you _cannot_ replace him."

If I was able to see through the blindfold, I would have seen the face of a lonely man; a man who had his heart torn out of his chest and replaced with something much darker and colder than could very well be conceived of by the Divine Himself. If he wasn't busy directing his dangerous emotions at me, I'd feel sorry for him. Either way, I was curious to see where this encounter was going, so I didn't resist. I convinced myself that perhaps this is some crazy form of role-play where my role was undefined.

He pinned me down by the wrists and penetrated me, clearly defining my role as little more than his toy. Pride be damned! In this position, that goddamn piercing felt amazing; so amazing that I didn't need him to touch me when I lost myself to him. I wrapped my legs around his trim waist as he decimated the locks to my secret places in rapid succession. I drew him in deeper as my flesh conformed to his. I cried out in muffled ecstasy as his private piercing became my undoing. The crazy bastard tried and failed to conceal the despised whimper we both make when we're about to lose it. I yielded first when he shoved himself all the way in, the piercing finally obliterating the locks to my secret places once and for all. He clamped his hand around my throat, digging his long nails deep into my flesh as he released himself deep inside me.

There was no post coitus afterglow. I was sworn to secrecy upon threat of death as soon as I finished dressing myself. I asked if this dilapidated building was his residence because surely someone of his standing would be able to afford better living accomodations than our current location.

His response was: "I am not homeless, I am home _free_."

I had little understanding of what he meant, so I brushed it off on his eccentricity. With that question finally answered, I took my leave and never associated with him again.

xxxxxx

Several months after our encounter, "Whitey" was sent off to a strange place with his student and numerous other reapers in tow, including his adversary, Martin Gaines, and his close friend, Marcus Jones. No one in the realm had any idea what the mission entailed, but it was traumatic enough to get the old loon to walk out on Dispatch before getting approval for his retirement. Essentially, he went rogue, and that's when information about him came to light. Actually, to be more accurate, it was when he came back to try and make amends with the Council on ethical grounds in order to expedite his retirement. When he didn't get his way, he flew into a homicidal rage. He fought and won his battle for his freedom and his legendary Death Scythe by slaughtering the entire Council; however, he sacrificed his flawless beauty in order to secure these things.

When he proudly sauntered out of the Council Chambers, bathed in succulent scarlet, and disappeared to a destination known only to him, mouths opened and secrets spilled like the blood of those he slaughtered. On that day, my department buzzed about his long, tumultuous affair with the Gray Shadow. We knew his face and were well aware of his fearsome, sadistic reputation. Dammit, our department was just itching to find out his name, but that bastard subordinate of his was tight-lipped. We gave up trying to get him to divulge that information to us; however, he did reveal that "Whitey" had a name behind the serial number.

"What is his name, White?" I inquired as I was reviewing some paperwork one day.

He snickered as he eyed me like prey. "Adrian Crevan. That's all that I will reveal about him. You _are_ aware of my superior's reputation, are you not?"

"Very much aware."

That was it. The conversation was over.

A few days after I found out what "Whitey's" real name was, I overheard the head of forensics talking to the Gray Shadow (I still wasn't able to catch the asshole's name) about favorite pastimes. Evidently, he and Crevan went on killing sprees together along with Marcus Jones. They laughed at how much of a softie Marcus was compared to the old man. A long dialogue consisting of their various ways they tormented humans before finally dispatching them ensued. I always knew that the ancients were crazy, but these guys were torturing and killing people for sheer pleasure since the dawn of their reaping days. The Gray Shadow did it for a sexual thrill, Marcus did it out of boredom, and the old bastard simply hunted people down like prey. They were nothing more than pieces of meat to be played with before dinner to him. Legendary Death was true brutality. Then it dawned on me that the abundance of his specimens, or rather trophies, came from millennia of hunting and killing what he deemed inferior creatures. And he had the audacity to call _me_ a weirdo! I collect for the sake of morbid, scientific research... officially speaking.

I listened carefully to their conversation as it moved on to the subject of their relationship. _This_ I had to hear.

"We haven't spoken or even been able to see each other in close to two centuries. I'm the head of two departments, Bill, so I can't get away from my duties. I miss him more than he'll ever know. Even if I told him, he'd never believe me because I was never able to return the love he has for me."

"Why is that?" the department head asked.

"I am not a possessive man. Because of my nature, I cannot return the love of a jealous, possessive person. I have a deep bond with Adrian and it will be my love for him, although that's not what he wants." The thin, gray haired reaper gazed up at the sky with a sad smile on his borderline androgynous face. "Besides, he knows that my heart and soul belong to Her. He knew this before we ever met." The shadow gracefully put his black brocade coat on and buttoned it like a proper gentleman. "Why is this race so possessive, Bill? Why is _he_ the most possessive out of all of us? Haven't you ever wondered about that? I reaped you. You weren't a possessive man, but now you are. Don't you ever question why?"

The forensics department head struggled to find an answer but came back with nothing.

"I know why, but you wouldn't believe me if I told you." The shadow summoned his feared battle axe in preparation for his unorthodox exit to who knew where. "I sincerely wish that I could have been able to return Adrian's love. I really do."

I disappeared into the shadows before my boss could catch me eavesdropping. I soon came to realize why that old lunatic was so obsessed with my body before the lust he felt turned into contempt. My body is a near replica to the Gray Shadow's. I recalled something else about that night too. He had been crying as I was in a separate room cleaning myself up. I never said anything for obvious reasons. In fact, I had forgotten about it until the day I overheard the shadow and my boss converse with each other about the past.

I found out that the rest of the rumors about him meddling with mortals in a less brutal fashion were also true. He does have a residence, but it isn't with the rest of his people. He preferred the company of the dead and access to quick and easy prey. The man had a voracious appetite for sex and violence, often ending in death, so what better way to satisfy both than to open up a mortuary and reside on the floor above it! The man is a genius. I'll give him that. It still doesn't explain where he lived throughout his younger years, but that's beside the point. He can go do what he pleases there. As far as I know, he was laying low since he went rogue, then _she_ happened.

If I didn't dislike the ancient asshole so much, I'd sympathize with him. However, I can't bring myself to do so, especially after hearing about what he did to Paige. She is mine, and I am hers. I can't allow _anyone_ to hurt her; past, present, or future. I'm not much of a fighter, but I'll do my best to protect what's mine. I can see eye to eye with the bastard on that philosophy at least.

xxxxxx

As time went by, my specimen collection has grown and greatly improved in quality. Part of me wants to rub it in Crevan's face, yet there's another part of me that wants to thank him for his guidance. Despite my hard feelings, I'm still helping him get out of an unfair death sentence. I justify it not by following the orders of a sadistic Councilman, but because of the reason why "Whitey" went rogue. It's quite ironic, really. A man who isn't phased by genocide turns his back on his kind without harming a single person in the genocide he's ordered to oversee. On top of that, he lets two little girls escape to safety, even though it was only temporary.

I don't know how Paige justifies her role in this. I haven't asked her. I'm almost afraid to do so. The axiom of my people applies to her, and quite frankly I'm fond of my life and livelihood.

Now that I think about it, "Whitey" and I think a lot alike but have too little in common to be friends. The only real bond we had was our morbid trophy collection, but the difference between the acquisition of our prizes couldn't have been greater. I neatly and quietly collected mine from the dead in the safety of a lab while he brutally stole his from countless victims who had the misfortune of meeting the business end of his Death Scythe. Two opposing methods to achieve the same goal...

I still maintain that my collection is superior to his. One day when this is over, I intend to prove it to him.


End file.
